


Night - Secrets

by Mercury Starlight (WoolandWater)



Series: The Young Ones - Love & Mobsters [9]
Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Fear, Ficlet, Gender Issues, Hiding, M/M, Mommy Issues, No Dialogue, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:25:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoolandWater/pseuds/Mercury%20Starlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timeline: Late June/Early July 1985</p><p>An examination of three secrets: one Vyvyan keeps from Rick, one Rick keeps from Vyvyan, and one both keep from each other.</p><p>Can technically be read as a stand-alone fic, but the first secret won't be fully revealed/resolved for several fics, so it might be a bit unsatisfying to read it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night - Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been author-edited for typos and grammar, but has NOT been beta'd!

Vyvyan has been going missing for hours on end, on something he calls a 'secret mission.' It's the only way he's ever referred to it, and no one can decipher what it is. It's been going on for _weeks_ , it started right around springtime, and no one knows what he's on about at all.

Rick knows he doesn't want to be followed, goes to great lengths to avoid it, actually, because he tried once and ended up duct taped to a kitchen chair all afternoon for his trouble. He didn't try again. Mike and Neil have tried themselves, to similar results (though he'd never dare duct tape Mike to anything without his implied permission, Vyvyan did lock him in his room using a lock only he knew how to open).

Rick knows he isn't cheating, because there are absolutely zero signs of it other than the disappearances, and Rick has checked _thoroughly._ He's taken every single "Is He Cheating?" Cosmo quiz from the past five years and Vyvyan passes every single one with flying colors, other than, of course, questions of the, "Does he go missing for great lengths of time?" variety. No lipstick, no receipts, no perfume, no _cologne_. He's as affectionate as ever, and if he _is_ cheating, he must have an incredible stamina. He never disappears overnight. In fact these so-called 'missions' only seem to take place in the mornings and early afternoons, and he's always home in time to harangue Neil over supper.

He knows it can't be work-related, because if it were, Mike would know about it, and if Mike is pretending not to know he's doing a much better job of it than usual. More than once, he's gone on a rant, lay down a new house rule, or even punished Rick and Neil, in reaction to Vyvyan's having been gone when he needed him.

Rick has no idea what the secret missions are and he can't even begin to guess. He only knows it's a secret kept from him, and he wonders how many others there are.

*****

Rick's mother always wanted a girl.

His parents struggled to have children, and she wished fervently for a girl every time they tried. When she finally fell pregnant, she wasted no time planning the rest of her child's life. Baby Pratt was to be named Regina, (rhymes with vagina, and oh how his schoolmates would have tormented him then. When he thinks back on it, he was lucky to escape with 'prick') and the nursery exploded in pinks and frills and staring, tight-lipped dolls. Their daughter was to attend the best schools, obtain the best grades, marry young to a rich, well-respected man, and grow up to be the first female Prime Minister. When he came out with the wrong plumbing, Rick's mother cried for a week, then developed a stiff-upper-lip and made do with what she had.

Quoting Victorian tradition, she grew his hair long and dressed him like a girl until he was four (and truth be told, as his father was often away, long into five). When she did switch to boy's clothes, she chose them for him and dressed him every day – her very own walking, talking, living doll.

At home, he was practically under lock-and-key; she watched him play, she watched him eat, she even watched him read. Every step he took was carefully monitored, corrected, instructed and criticized. Day after day, she followed him to school and stood just outside school grounds, ready with a cautioning word or scolding glare at a moment's notice. He was to stay clean, pressed and presentable – no rough sports or games in which other children might push or hit him. He had no friends; friends were a dangerous injury waiting to happen.

And even if he'd been allowed friends, he couldn't have made them. Everyone hated him. What better target than a small, prissy tattletale with a speech impediment and an expensive suit, who could be correctly identified as a momma's boy simply by looking over the playground fence? None, according to the majority of his classmates. By the time grammar school ended and he was shipped off to Eversley, he was glad to go – if only because he could choose his own trousers and occasionally play in the dirt, and no one at the new school knew the old school's nicknames. He was twelve before he dressed himself for the first time.

For all her control, his mother was plenty permissive. She was, after all, the only person in the known universe allowed to criticize him about anything, ever. He was mummy's precious, perfect angel, and she need only remind him of such occasionally through loving, careful correction. Anyone else's opinion on his upbringing, including her husband's and even his own, was irrelevant. She was very selective in her lessons. His manners were atrocious, he was hot-headed, arrogant, loud, superior, prone to tantrums and happy to order the world around. She blithely ignored all of it. No matter how old he got, as far as she was concerned he was only a baby, and who can criticize a baby for living up to its nature? Half the time, his tantrums were ignored, the other half he was rewarded with hugs and kisses and expensive gifts and promises to make everything all right. His flights-of-fancy-turned-occasional-delusions-of-grandeur were encouraged and celebrated. For the first 18 years of his life, as long as he was at home and following his mother's rules, Rick was never wrong.

His father was distant, occupied with work, and most of the time he paid little-to-no attention to his son whatsoever. He simply sat back and watched, with slight reservation, as his wife formed their son into the obnoxious, mean, spiteful, hypocritical bastard the rest of the world came to know and be infinitely annoyed by.

Aided by hindsight and a thankfully better-developed sense of perspective, Rick has a theory behind all the coddling and spoiling and indulgence; his mother was compensating. He wasn't a girl, and she pitied him for it, and she spoiled him rotten in a vain attempt to make it up to him.

Though Vyvyan has suspected much of this, he will never hear any of the details, because Rick refuses to tell him (though, of course, he's never once asked). He's embarrassed by his past, and terrified of its implications. Vyvyan's always calling him a girl, and he never wants to admit how close it feels sometimes. He's afraid Vyv's right. He's afraid his _mother_ was right; that he was supposed to be a girl after all. He doesn't want to be a girl, he never did (though he must admit, he loves the way a skirt billows when he spins in it) and that Vyvyan has keyed into this part of his nature has always, _always_ bothered him.

He lies awake nights worried he's not even actually gay, that his mother just bred an effeminate nature into him along with the arrogance and the need to look his best. Of course, if he _were_ to confess any of this to Vyvyan, he'd be told in no uncertain terms that he's wrong – that Vyvyan could smell the homosexuality on him the moment he laid eyes on him, that he can see the joyful gratification in Rick's eyes at something as innocent as a kiss, and that no one could ever have left a mark that indelible (and unmistakable) on a child. Rick remembers the secondary school crush on Sarah Thorpe; he's repressed the crush he had on Matthew Billings that same year – the one that lasted twice as long and led to late evenings spent lurking around the rugby field catching brief glimpses. Rick was always gay, and his mother's influence did little to change that. But he'll never get the benefit of that reassurance, because some secrets must stay kept.

The fact is, Rick's mother never accepted that she had a son. His mother loved an unattainable image of what he could have been, if only he'd been born with the right equipment. She never truly accepted him, truly _loved_ him, for what he was. And consciously or unconsciously, he's been aware of it every day of his life. It's a shame Vyvyan will never know that, because it makes them more alike than either understands.

*****

Rick and Vyvyan are hiding a significant feeling from each other. The same feeling. The same secret. A secret that each would benefit from knowing. If they were more honest with each other, if they would open up to each other, they would find themselves so much closer than they are now. They would talk to each other differently. They would treat each other differently. They would _love_ each other differently.

Because they would finally understand how _afraid_ they both are.

Rick can't tell Vyvyan that the major contributing factor to his softening since they started sleeping together, his yelling less and smiling more, his asking more questions and making fewer demands - his _growing up_ \- is his fear of being left behind. He can't tell Vyvyan that he wakes up each morning legitimately surprised that Vyvyan is next to him, legitimately surprised that he has a _friend_ in him. He can't tell Vyvyan that his "friends" at the Collective tolerate him at best. That really, he's more of an unwanted pet than a compatriot to them - a stray cat they can't seem to resist feeding, but can't bring themselves to allow inside. He can't tell Vyvyan that he's never, ever, _ever_ felt wanted _anywhere_ , and he's only just coming to understand that himself. He can't tell Vyvyan that he's terrified of slipping up, of one day going too far and losing him, losing his entire social life, the first one he's ever had, forever. He can't tell Vyvyan that he doesn't even know what that slip-up might be, whether it would be falling back on his old, obnoxious self or loving Vyvyan too _much_ , too _fast_.

He can't tell Vyvyan how paralyzing that is, how many times he's censored himself, or gotten louder and more obnoxious, in a desperate attempt to keep some sort of balance, to keep Vyvyan from finally discovering how petrified he is of losing him.

Vyvyan can't tell Rick that he's never been closer to another human being in his entire 22 years on Earth, and that it scares the living shit out of him. He can barely admit it to himself. He can't tell Rick that he's beginning to feel conflicted about the whole thing, because the closer he gets, the more he wants to pull away; the whole thing is just too real, too honest. He can't tell Rick that feeling so comfortable and relaxed and off-guard around him is somehow prickly and uncomfortable and so very foreign. He hasn't yet put his finger on what, exactly, is even _wrong_. He only knows it's begun keeping him up nights. It's opening old wounds and dredging up old memories and putting him through thoughts he'd thought he'd rid himself of years ago. He can't tell Rick that he's terrified this relationship has begun to pull the scab off the gaping hole of his soul and that if it goes on like this much longer he's going to start _feeling_ things. Things he hasn't felt in a very long time. Things he doesn't ever want to feel again. He can't tell Rick that he doesn't want that to happen, that he doesn't _want_ to pull away, but that he thinks he might _have to_.

He can't tell Rick how paralyzing that is, how many times he's clung to Rick so much harder, or scowled and insulted him so much more harshly than he really meant it, in a desperate attempt to keep some sort of balance, to keep Rick from finally discovering how petrified he is of keeping him.

The fear is the biggest secret; the secret that will bring them together - or tear them apart.

**Author's Note:**

> I struggled with this fic, strangely enough. The first two secrets have been written for YEARS, but I was stuck on the ending. I originally wanted it to be two secrets each, but I honestly couldn't think of another secret for Rick. He's so loud and self-absorbed, he tells everybody everything about himself _all the time_. 
> 
> But finally, after coming back to it after all this time, and spending a whole lot of time brainstorming, I settled on the last secret, and I like the result much better than originally planned. ^_^


End file.
